


Never Quite Right

by MorbidDramaMaker



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Angst, Desperation, F/M, Fair Folk, Fairies, Folklore, Giant Sentient Maze, GlamDamnit, Jareth might be a little crazy, Origin Story, Romance, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, Tragedy, What Ifs, fae, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorbidDramaMaker/pseuds/MorbidDramaMaker
Summary: "Sometimes, he resented living solely for this girl. This silly, never-quite-right girl who refused him again and again and again. He hated living for those few hours when she was his – but not really, not quite, always at the ends of his fingertips, always some space between them." Based on Glamdamnit's amazing fan theory, featured on Buzzfeed in 2014.
Relationships: Jareth & Sarah Williams, Jareth/Sarah Williams
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	Never Quite Right

**Author's Note:**

> They're all Sarah. 
> 
> Reposted from FF.net, originally posted in 2014.
> 
> This is my first time crossposting, so I opted to share an older piece that I have a lot of fondness for. Enjoy!

This idea was taken directly from Glamdamnit, in her wicked theory of Labyrinth's backstory. If you haven't read it yet, it's on buzzfeed and tumblr, I suggest you give it ago. I have no doubt there will be a number of adaptations on this theory, this is just my take at my new headcanon. I was aiming for a William Goldman/Robin McKinley sort of feel, especially with the asides.

-XXX-

Long ago a philosopher (or perhaps he was a sorcerer, or a bit of both, it was hard to tell back then) traveled far and wide across the world in search of knowledge (that was what philosophers and sorcerers did in those days, search for knowledge, which wouldn't be much tolerated nowadays, as their employers would probably see this as "unlimited paid vacation" rather than legitimate work, but that was before there were things like "employers" or "vacations").

The quest didn't lend him much in the way of great knowledge, truly (unless you count the number of ways he learned to make a meal last into two or three more meals), however, it did lead him to meet a wide variety of interesting people. Farmers, dukes, cooks, and kings, the philosopher (or sorcerer) met with them all in his quest for greater knowledge. That was how he was going about his task, you see. He was determined to meet all kinds of people, sure that every soul along the way would have some tidbit that might be of use to him. So, the philosopher-sorcerer went along, meeting people, staying with them, observing their lives, and learning their ways. He learned much of the world in this way.

It was at the start of his journey that he found the tax collector's cottage.

The man lived with his wife (a second wife, as it turned out, young and pretty and very shrill, but the young and the pretty seemed to make up for that), his daughter, a young lady of a fiery spirit, and a son – a bouncing baby boy who was barely old enough to toddle across the yard. Theirs was a small town. The man served the local knight in collecting tithe, so he was not too popular around the square. But nonetheless, he was kind and charitable, and more than willing to open his house to the weary, mysterious traveler -

\- That was the thing about being a philosopher-sorcerer. You were naturally mysterious, which does not tend to foster much beyond suspension from rural townfolk. This philosopher-sorcerer in question, however, had the benefit of being handsome and charming, along with quite skilled in his craft. So, he kipped along with the family, sat beside their fire, making small birds and mice out of dust for the baby to play with, calling forth flame-flowers and spinning pretty ribbons out of pure spider's web for the mother and daughter. He got along famously with the tax collector's family.

He left after two days spent in their small town, promising to return with great tales about the world.

Three years later, he did return. The family welcomed him with great warmth, bringing him into their home for a second time. And again they sat around the fire, listening to stories, watching the great man tease magic about the cottage.

Things went a little differently this time around, however. For the girl was no longer quite a girl anymore, and her tenderness was quick to catch the heart of the philosopher, who had seen much of the harsh and cruel world in his travels. He began to stay with the girl while she worked – milking the cow, tending to the garden, making the bread. And soon, she too found herself fond of the guest. He used his magic to thread affection into her heart through charming spells used to create flowers, call forth animals, ease the burden for her labors. In little time, the young woman was equally in love with the philosopher.

"How you've turned my world, you precious thing," he murmured as they lay out in the fields, the summer breeze wafting by them, avoiding the afternoon together.

Promises were exchanged quickly. "How long shall I be your wife?" she would tease.

"Hm." He would pretend to think about it. "Forever."

"Not long at all," the maid laughed.

"Oh, but I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I shall be your slave…."

With that, she would nudge the philosopher playfully. "I will certainly love you, but I don't know about fearing or obeying."

So they would renegotiate terms with a joyful energy of youths in love.

The second wife quickly noticed how her step-daughter sat at the feet of the traveler, entranced. And she also noticed how the philosopher gazed upon the girl (who was less of a girl, and more of a young woman). It took little to see the spark – and even less time to know she wanted to extinguish it.

The stepmother was used to be the object of desire – prior to marrying the tax collector, she was the belle of the ball, the beauty of the town, with many suitors and regular offers of marriage. Somehow, she found herself wed to the tax collector (who was not quite young, nor handsome, nor very rich). It was only because her father insisted on her accepting one of these offers, and, after careful analysis, she deemed to tax collector most safe. He was respectable, well-employed, a little daft, and previously married. The only wrinkle was his daughter – who was twelve at the time, a tumultuous age. No love was lost nor gained between the women over the last five years the stepmother had occupied the cottage. Theirs was an unsteady truce, in which the young lady silently went about her assigned chores, and the young mother ignored the girl's tendency towards the fantastic. The stepdaughter was free to escape to the woods that lay just beyond the garden, or the stables, or the bedroom in the attic, provided she completed all tasks set before her and generally avoid getting in her stepmother's (this included carefully turning away once the stepmother began flirting with merchants on market day). It was an arrangement that served them both well.

It was not disapproval so much as jealousy that drove her to conspire against the romance – besides the fact that her stepdaughter was an able maid and nanny – so the stepmother sought to end it. When she could not persuade the traveler to turn his eye upon her, she went to her husband, whispering ill-falsehoods, sewing mistrust, and dislike towards the kind and clever philosopher.

So, it was that when the philosopher came to the tax collector for his daughter's hand, he was turned down.

"But sir, " said he. "I assure you, I am most well-off in this world. Your daughter shall be provided for."

"It is not that which prevents us," the tax collector said. "Your profession is what sits unwell in our throats. And we wish for Sarah –" For that was the maiden's name. " – to stay close to us, and you live in a land so far away…."

The philosopher was troubled by this. He made offers to stay in the town, to bring her to visit, to pay a large dowry. But nothing was to convince the tax collector – his wife had done her work. Heart downtrodden, the philosopher ceased his pleading.

When the traveler told his love, she wept. "They shall never let me go," said she. "For who shall tend to the housework? Oh, to spend the rest of my years caring for that house and that babe."

With that, the philosopher resolved to find a way to win his love. He would take her against the will of her parents. She may never lift a finger again. He would get them a home so far away, so grand, that she would practically be a queen in her own right. The philosopher proclaimed this to Sarah, and she wept still, for happiness.

He left that night, promising to return once he procured for them a home. She did not wish him to leave, but he soothed her with soft words and promise of a grand future. So, the philosopher-sorcerer left the tax collector's cottage to seek for them a new life, promising his love with a kiss.

He sought for weeks and months a land separate enough to give them protection and peace. But though he knew much of the world, the philosopher could not feel settled in any place.

On his journey, he often travelled during night, so as to avoid the heat of the day and the highwaymen that ruled the rural roads of the country. The tranquility of the darkened world comforted him. He would walk in silence thinking of all he had learned in his quests, of his beloved, and their life ahead.

As everyone knows (or once knew), the fairy folk are most awake at night. So it was just that the philosopher should come across some in his latest quest. In the dark of a foreign wood, the crept out to meet him, luring him into their dancing ring. A meadow tucked between tall trees, overseen by the great fey queen of the wood, the fairies held court and merriment. The philosopher was brought into their circle, where he joined them in dance – though not in feast, for he knew (as did anyone with any sense, which is to say hardly anyone) that to accept the fey-touched food, be it a drop of wine or crumb of bread, would leave him in their thrall forever.

The queen, seated high and away from her fairies, grew quiet enchanted with the sorcerer-philosopher. She became quite determined to keep him for her own. Though it was not that easy – she must, as their law dictated, win him fairly. So, she summoned him from the fairy ring, painted red lips pulled in a too-wide smile, and bid the man to stay. She offered treasures and youth, things that the fey knew mortal men desired.

Politely, he refused. "I have one waiting for me, your highness," he explained. "I mustn't stray from my task."

She was impressed with his resolve. Delicately, the fey queen offered a wager. "Yours sounds like quite a love story, sorcerer," she said (fairies did not believe in philosophy, really, they were too busy with their trickery and fun to think much beyond that). "I tell you – should you move me to tears with your tale, I shall reward you with a kingdom all of your own. But should you not, I shall claim you to dance here in my wood for the next thousand dark moons."

Hesitant, the philosopher agreed and set about telling his tale. He feared that the story would not be enough to summon sad feelings in the fey queen, but he knew he had little choice but to try. So he began.

Telling them of his sad beginnings – the fruitless quest for knowledge that led him to the darkest scourges of the mortal world, the cruelties, and unkindness he saw about him – was enough to bring about a surge of pity in the fey queen's heart. He then spoke of the tax collector's daughter. How pretty Sarah had soothed all that rage and hurt the world has thrown upon him. Her innocence and sweet, loving nature had shown the philosopher that all was not so terrible. She saw past his titles and magic, flowery words and good-looks to his heart, and found it to her liking. Without a thought, Sarah soothed him from the hurts of the world.

Then, the philosopher told the queen of the rejection of Sarah's father when he pled for her hand. The sorrow was only overcome by his determination to win her from her oblivious father and spoiled stepmother. Should he fail, the philosopher said gravely, his Sarah would be trapped, turned into a maid, left to care for her family's home, her brother, and one day his children, then his children's children, until she was grey and old and gone. If not that, then she would be wed to some village bumpkin.

"Tis not fair to her, in any case," he mourned. "I wish to, if anything, rescue her from her fate. I care not a pickle for myself in the matter, not if she isn't free."

His compassion moved the fey queen. A single pearl-colored tear glistened against her golden cheek.

"I shall grant you a land," said the fey queen after much thought. She had a soft space in her heart for great loves, and the philosopher's plight turned her to pity. "Of magic and might. It shall be yours to rule as you please. Bring your lady there and live in peace."

She kissed his brow, then released him to her promise.

The philosopher thanked the queen heartily. She selected two from her court to act as guides, two fair and lithe fairies that swept along like shadows beside the mortal, and they set off on their way, traveling out of the dark wood.

They traveled many a day and night, leading the philosopher through unfamiliar lands. He knew not how much time had passed, merely that it had.

Soon he was in his kingdom. It was a barren land, composed of a red desert with scrappy bushes and little more. The philosopher was disappointed by the initial sight of his realm. But, when night approached, a brilliant sunset of a thousand vivid colors displayed its splendor. Sitting on a hill, overlooking a valley, the philosopher began to see the land in a new light – with a new potential.

The next day, he set to work, calling upon his immense power to construct a magnificent castle from white stone locked deep within the earth, which he summoned with all of his might. With a keen eye, patience, and a steady hand, he sculpted delicate arches, twisting columns, clever carvings, and other pieces of artful stonework. In three days, he had a home to be proud of, something beautiful with which to present his Sarah.

He then turned his eye to the garden, creating a sanctuary out of the red dust. He built pavilions surrounded by sweet green grass and a plethora of flowers – roses, daisies, violets, daffodils, snapdragons, hydrangeas, azalea, tulips, sunflowers, orchids, and so many more. There were quiet corners with elegant fountains, statues of pure white marble, trellises draped with dark ivy, willows that wept into calm, lily-covered ponds. And, as an afterthought (though an amusing one), he constructed a hedge maze, thinking it might be a bit of sport for their children (not that he was planning that far ahead).

When he was done, it was the seventh day. It had been a year since he left his beloved. With heart in his throat, the philosopher left his kingdom in the care of his two fairies and set off to claim his Sarah.

It took some time to journey back to the sleepy village. Once he arrived, the philosopher was quickly ashen to find the tax collector's cottage abandoned – not merely abandoned, but disheveled, covered in creeping vines and dust. The locals did not say much, being wary of magicians and even more wary of philosophers ("Thinkin' too much," the tavern-keeper said gruffly), but one matronly old baker was willing to spin him the tale.

"Twas long ago," she warned. "But I think I can remember…."

She told him that not long after he left the tax collector's daughter had declared that she was to leave, off to seek her own fortune. A great argument had ensued (naturally, the entire town had listened keenly), leading to Sarah fleeing her family's home. Her father and mother had given her up as a rebel, a needless burden upon their lives.

She returned later, in despair, having not found her love. Time passed, and she seemed to have faded. Her adventured beyond the village had emboldened her with enough life, but it seemed once she truly believed he was not to return, Sarah withered, eventually dying well before her years and youth allowed.

Her family left the village not long after, leaving Sarah buried beneath a small black stone in the churchyard. No one knew where they had gone – people so rarely left, and it was not as though the tax-collector was a popular man, someone to be missed.

"How long ago?" the philosopher demanded. "How long?"

"Fifty years since you left these parts, nearly to the day," the baker said primly. "I was scarcely to your knee in those days. Watched you ride out after giving her a kiss. All the girls were quite taken with you. But not like her. There were stars in our Sarah's eyes. But they didn't last long after she'd realized you'd left for good."

His rage was sharp, shattering. It was restrained enough for him to thank the baker and leave the vicinity of the town. However, it quickly broke forth when he collapsed before the small, worn stone in the back corner of the churchyard.

At dusk, he left. He would never return.

-XXX-

Once back in his kingdom, the philosopher mourned for an age. All the while, his fairy guides, no more than shadowy spirits, tended to his lands. The years passed. Much of his time was spent staring out of the windows of his chamber wistfully, refusing nourishment. When he emerged, it could be seen (though, it was not, as there was no one about save the fairies) that his grief and magic had transformed him into an otherworldly being. It had first began with the fey queen's kiss. Fifty years then passed without a trace of age upon the philosopher, then another fifty, and another – he would have suspected (if he noticed or cared) that she had perhaps given an accidental gift to an unwilling recipient. Whatever the cause may have been, the philosopher lived on and on, ruling his land as an absent king.

If it was a lonely life, the philosopher-king paid no mind. He did not leave or seek the company of others for well over a hundred years. And when he did, it was not with any happiness. A call, across miles (and dimensions, as it turned out, though he was not aware of this, nor was he aware of it when he was rewarded with this land), bid the philosopher to come. And so he did, with great bitterness.

What met him was a great surprise.

For it was his beloved, tending again to her babe of a brother, suffering at the hand of her step-mother. She wept before the fire of their gloomy cottage, sobs mingling with that of the baby's, curling into herself as the night crept in. At the window, his eyes narrowed to see her suffering.

"Oh, just take him away," she whispered.

Sensing his cue, the philosopher-turned-king entered the kitchen. "Sarah," he whispered.

The girl was terrified, moving away from him with fright. She was not quite the same – the eyes were a few shades off of green, more blue, and her nose wider, freckles fainter – but she was most definitely Sarah. He exhaled at the sight of her, descending to claim her hands.

But she refused him, recoiling. She didn't know him.

He did not understand. In despair, he turned to the one thing that might be holding her back from their happiness. Lifting the screaming child from his basket on the table, the philosopher begs her to abandon the babe. Her bright eyes stay on the child, frozen.

"Forget the child," he crooned. "Come with me."

"N-no," she whispered.

Heart-wrenching, he fled.

However, he had not, as he soon found, replaced the baby. The child's screams echoed through his great hall mercilessly. When he could take it no more, the philosopher sent an un-refined blast of magic upon the infant. The crying subsided to a low gurgling noise. Looking back, he found a small, grubby creature with several fingers stuffed up its nose blinking up at him. The philosopher simply blinked back, running a gloved hand through his messy golden hair.

The fairies took care of the creature – the "gobbly-ittle-kin" as one called it in a cooing tone – leaving the philosopher-king to his despair.

-XXX-

It so happened that only a few years later he was summoned by another call and found another Sarah suffering at the hand of a fussy babe and cruel step-mother. Once again, he attempted to liberate her. And, once more, she refused.

This time, when he took the baby, Sarah followed, chasing after him, catching the tail of his cloak, pulled with him across space. She landed, breathlessly, upon the dusty red sands of one of the hills overlooking the valley. Surprised, the philosopher-king watched her take in her surroundings.

"My brother," she gasped. "Please."

This time her hair was too light – nearly mousey – face too round and her eyes brown-ish. He cannot refuse her, though he can make it worth his time.

Gesturing to his castle, standing tall and white and proud against the pure blue of the sky, he challenged her to find the child within the walls by the time the sunsets. If she fails, they are both his.

She won the child back within two hours (to his dismay), and fled.

He could understand why she keeps refusing him. This is what they had wanted. This was all Sarah had longed for – freedom from her family, a place to call her own. No, he could not understand what caused her to recoil in fear from him, but it would not keep him from her. He cannot fathom why she continually chooses the baby over him and his undying love. The only thing that seems to keep her his trickery – "Well. So be it."

It took him three more Sarahs and two more lost babes transformed into goblins for the concept of a maze, a labyrinth strikes him. He was watching the three goblins in his care tear apart the garden, running through the hedge-maze he made so long ago when the idea dawns. If she is determined to remain only as long enough to regain the child, he will delay her as long as possible, hoping one day she might choose to remain here. With him. The greater the challenge, the longer she stays. And one day…

So he built an elaborate labyrinth for his Sarah, a challenge worthy for her. The highways, twists, riddles, and other whimsical tasks are not too dangerous – he did not wish for a moment to place her in any harm's way – but it shall not be as simple as breezing past a flock of butterflies. Once it is finished, he had only to wait.

He didn't wait long. Sarah (shorter, skin darker, mouth too wide) calls to him on a hot day, when the baby won't stop crying and there is no food nor water about. He took them both, issued his challenge, then watched her fumble through the gates with only two hours left. She failed – as did the next four. One even died, perishing over the edge of a tall bridge. He mourned that Sarah (same creamy skin, but her eyes were too dark, hair growing out in waves rather than pin-straight), though it was not enough to stop him execute another game.

-XXX-

The goblin population grew, and eventually, he was forced to give them their own community within the palace gates. It did not help that he'd also taken on relieving other families of unwanted children (a result of his soft heart), introducing females to the population. Still, he found himself fond of the scrubby little creatures. He wasn't too disappointed to rule over such a species. They were clever, in their own way, scrappy, sneaky, oddly endearing in their innocence.

"King," they called him, and he found the title pleasing. "King," he agreed. They got along amiably from that point.

-XXX-

He came to her in the midst of a harsh snowstorm. Dressed in heavy wool and furs, she's pressed the child, swaddled tightly in a blanket of blue, to her breast. The sight brought about a sharp pain in his chest – he'd often dreamt of seeing her hold a wee babe of their own to her chest like that.

"Sarah," he had purred. "Leave the child. Leave the cold. Come. Join me…you will never be at the mercy of your step-mother, nor even the weather, again. You would be a queen…all I ask is that you leave the baby…."

She looked down at the sleeping infant, tucked against her snuggly. A glimmer in the corner of her eye suggested tears, but it might have also been a sparkling fleck of snow.

"I cannot," she whispered, and he can see that it pained her.

He took the sight of her in – thinner brows, no freckles, hair that is more black than brown – feeling, for the hundredth time, a small hint of defeat. Defeat…and regret?

"Then you shall seek him," he drawled, right on cue. Waving his hand, the snow disappears, and they're standing on red sands, overlooking his masterpiece. "You have thirteen hours to reach the castle at the center of my labyrinth…."

-XXX-

She died, only a few hours from the center. A cruel end at the bottom of one of the enchanted ponds, tempted by mermaid songs. He felt her passing more than most of the others. Of all the Sarahs, she was most like the Sarah. But he's still waiting for her.

-XXX-

There were certain words that would make his influence over her (already limited) null. He was not aware of how she found them. Sometimes it simply seemed like a cruel trick of fate. The once-philosopher-sorcerer-now-king was not sure what, exactly, caused him to falter when she uttered the phrase. Whatever it was, it was enough to give her something of a victory – at the very least, it allowed her to evade him further.

Still, she did not always know to use them. It was, in fact, quite rare that she did.

Oh, but when she did...It was like the world was falling down. His kingdom, shattering.

"My will is as strong as yours…and my kingdom as great…you have no power over me!"

He would howl and screech and twist in agony as everything fell back into place. Sarah would return to her life. All was righted for her. Once again, he was alone.

-XXX-

Sometimes, he resented living solely for this girl. This silly, never-quite-right girl who refused him again and again and again. This creature who evaded, mistrusted, quaked at the sight of him.

"Your eyes can be so cruel….just as I can be so cruel," he would think upon seeing another Sarah cower before him with those not-quite-right-orbs.

He hated living for those few hours when she was his – but not really, not quite, always at the ends of his fingertips, always some space between them.

The king waited for the day when she wouldn't say no, when she might forget the stupid, screaming baby and say "yes." He did not know what he would do, should she accept his pleading offering. Only that he so desperately wanted her to.

-XXX-

"You remind me of the babe…." he murmured, bouncing yet another child upon his knee as his court crowds around, eyes bugging out in interest as they take in the sight of this latest catch, dressed in frilly velvet blue creation, complete with cream lace at the cuffs. This one in particular refused to stop crying.

"What babe?" one goblin asked from behind a small mountain of chickens that were being piled in the middle of the great hall.

"The babe with the power," answered the king absent-mindedly.

-XXX-

The frilly baby's Sarah (squarer jaw, narrow lips, and silver-grey eyes) wore a yellow silk ballgown lined with ivory lace and lavender ribbons, which gave the king an idea. Distraction had always played a vital role in his strategy (in all honesty, it was his sole strategy), and her attire gave him a notion of what might best capture the attention of a young woman. That was how the crystal ballroom was spun, out of dreams and delicate quartz, a dash of snow and sparkle. He was quite pleased with it, leaving it open, cast in a crystal bubble, awaiting Sarah's curiosity.

He was rewarded when, two hours after leaving it out in the misty woods that bordered the third-to-last row of walls to the palace gates, she found it. Once the dream was claimed, he simply had to slip in.

Sarah instantly attached to him. They danced her remaining four hours away easily. The young woman waltzed in a daze merriment, never straying from her induced bliss. He was tempted to keep her here until she grew acclimated to the Labyrinth (in other words, fey), but her willpower eventually broke through when he chanced a kiss upon her brow. Despair tore at her when Sarah realized what had been done, and she collapsed, fading from the crystal bubble back into the forest, and before the king could retrieve her, she was gone.

-XXX-

In time, new creatures began to claim various parts of his elaborate kingdom. They arrived without permission, seeming to know that the king would not send them away. Inhabiting the hedges, caverns, bogs, and forests, they add a new element to the challenge of the Labyrinth. A new fright, a new thing to be fought against.

They were mostly harmless. Outcasts of their own lands. Lumbering rock-callers, dark unicorns, fieryes, homeless hags, weary, grey griffins, small, weak dragons, dwarves, colorful birds….They filled his kingdom to the brim, quietly finding niches and taking up the task of preventing every runner from reaching the castle. They did not disappoint.

So, the king allowed them refuge in his lands. All was peace – save for the arrival of a new runner.

-XXX-

At some point, one of the winning Sarahs had left with the tale of his defeat hot on her tongue, and he found himself confronted with new runners who seemed to know precisely what they were doing when they wished away younger siblings. It seemed his story had circled the Aboveground.

"I d-d-didn't think you were real," one girl gasped (hair was auburn, eyes nearly green enough, but her eyes were too narrow).

"You thought wrong," he told her, whisking them both away to his kingdom. She would fail, practically giving up from the start.

It is decided that he rather likes the notoriety. Being mythically infamous was nothing he aspired to, but the knowledge that he was known, feared, talked about, gave the king a spark of inspiration. That was how the book came to be.

The red, slim leather-bound novel was casually left in a well-established bookstore and was pocketed by a surly-faced boy who was offended by the prim shopkeeper. He did not do it out of any interest in the tome, however, and it went unread.

It was found abandoned on a bench by Sarah (not willowy enough, short hair cut to the base of her neck, wide lips, and a broad forehead). She was eleven. Six years later, her brother was wished away, and this Sarah ran with vigor, nearly reaching the end. The thirteenth hour passed. He came to her, shadow falling over the girl who huddled at the base of one sad willow. She blinked up with eyes the color of spring.

"I've read this one…my will is as strong as yours…"

"You could be a queen." He told her this flatly, without his usual impassioned tone. She would crush him; he knows it. "If you would but stay with me. Love me, obey me, and we would be so happy. I've torn the world apart for you."

For a brief second, she stumbled, seeming to be caught by his words. But a steely resolve sparked within the depths of her bright eyes, and the words came back to her.

"You have no power over me," she murmured, turning back to the tree.

Anger tightened his fists, narrowed his eyes. "Think again," he spat, reaching for her. But she had said the right words and was fading fast, leaving him with only a red-faced baby and a lavender hair ribbon caught upon a tree branch for memory.

-XXX-

Another Sarah, another dream.

It gave him some heart that no matter how many times she ran, if she was caught within his crystal dreams, she was always attracted to him. Like they were magnets. Like he was true north, and she could not help but come, unable to resist his pull. She was looking for him, in those drug-induced dreamings, whether she knew it or not. It might take her a minute or an hour, but she would always find him, eventually. And once they were together, the panic, the anxiousness would disappear. Sarah relaxed. Letting him guide her, they happily wasted hours in the crystal ballroom.

The king was never so happy as when she was ensnared in that room. He enjoyed switching up the theme, changing masks (but never his face). Some part of him believed that maybe, just maybe, if she were there long enough, she might realize, might see –

She almost did. Once.

They were turn about the marble floor, spinning past other pairs with the greatest of ease. Sarah (a little older than the others, eyes the color of purple midnight, her nose smaller, hair billowy rather than straight) was smiling up at him dreamily, moving close so that her chest brushed his, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm, about her waist, clenched slightly as he inhaled her warm scent (something that seemed to change, too, but this one was nearly right). They were inches from midnight, closing in on her final hour.

"Jareth," she murmured into his lapels when they slow in their turning. He froze at the sound of his name.

Startled, the Sarah looked up, brow creasing with concern. That was when the king made the fatal mistake of brushing his lips against hers – breaking the illusion.

She ran. He did not chase. When she found the babe, he fought with everything to prevent her from going. She didn't know the right words, but he could not hold on to her, regardless.

-XXX-

He had not been summoned in years when she called, in all of her theatrics, biding him to take her brother away.

Some of the calls he sensed and would take the time to examine them, and likewise craft a challenge specifically aimed for them. In the guise of an owl (an owl who apparently was not nocturnal, but mortals never did mind the details much, did they?), he sat, keenly observing all that was before him.

This Sarah (young, very young, but nearly so alive his Sarah that it aches his heart) had a certain flair for the dramatic. He planned to play off of that. The crystal ballroom would suit her well.

A wicked step-mother, typical, an accountant for a father – long hours, neglectful – and a runaway mother. Oh, he had much to work with here. And her youth made her just so…sentimental. Perfect for his junk hag. He watched her rehearse for a play that would never be seen in a theater or by an audience, the passionate girl swirling in a homemade costume as she recited lines. Did she long for a knight – or a villain? He could give her both. She did not, he thought, want to be rescued.

She would love the antiquity of his castle. The king preened in the afternoon sun as the girl tugged at her heavy velvet sleeves. How easy it would be to enchant her young heart with a few pretty gowns and a big fairy tale castle.

That night the storm came, right on cue, scaring the child, in turn frustrating young Sarah, leaving him to sweep in, imposing in his black attire (another detail he'd seen too over the ages was grand entrances. It fit his own flair for the drama and egotism). Lightening set off his entry nicely, his cloak whipping about him in the violent wind (though, perhaps the glitter was a tad excessive). With eyes as wide as dinner plates, Sarah listened as he made his offer.

And then she promptly refused him.

"You're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King. I want my brother back, if it's all the same."

"What's said is said," the king chided. He made his offer, which is refused. Impressed, he moved on.

"Forget the child," he purred.

"I can't," she replied tearfully. "Can't you see that I can't?"

He could. But what he couldn't see was how she was resisting him. She was young. These young ones usually could be counted upon to stumble, hesitate. But not this Sarah.

So, he brings her to the start and leaves her. Back in his great hall, the king sets a crystal upon her, watching her slow start. For thirteen hours she will be here. She will be his.

"I move the stars for no one but you."

-XXX-

"I'm Sarah."

The dwarf looked her up and down with a keen eye. "That's what I thought." They're all Sarah.

Bemused, the girl followed, continuing to pester the poor creature into helping her find a way into the Goblin King's great Labyrinth

-XXX-  
Fin.


End file.
